The Participants

Takoda Tortoise (M)………………………Friend to everyone…………….Sioux
Gomda Gibbon (M)………………………..Wind…………………………………Kiowa
Cheyevo Chimpansee (M)……………..Spirit Warrior……………………..Hopi
Gaho Gorilla (F)…………………………….Mother……………………………….Unspecified Native Origin
Posala Pig (F)……………………………….Farewell to Spring flowers……Miwok
Sitala Sow (F)……………………………….Display Memory…………………..Miwok
Doba Dolphin (F)………………………….There Was No War……………...Navajo
Wapun Whale (F)…………………………Dawn…………………………………..Potawatomi
Lallo Lion (M)………………………………Little Boy………………………………Kiowa
Lomahongva Leopard (F)…………….Beautiful Clouds Arising………..Hopi
Rowtag Raven (M)………………………Fire……………………………………….Algonquian
Wakiza Wolf (M)…………………………Desperate Warrior………………..Unspecified Native Origin
Donoma Dog (F)………………………….Visible Sun…………………………….Omaha
Bidzill Buffalo (M)………………………..He is Strong………………………….Navajo
Baishan Bees (Swarm)…………………Knife……………………………………..6 Nations of the Apache
Shikoba Sturnidae-Starling…………Feather………………………………….Choctaw
Eluwilussit Elephant (Family)………Holy One………………………………...Algonquian

The Delegations

Gaho slowly raised herself out of the makeshift nest and moved toward the Circle. As her younger kinsmen rose to help her, she waved them down again, reassuringly. The occasion demanded that she go alone – her show of strength here as an elder would be essential as inspiration to the others to remain steadfast. She did not rush. There was no need. As she approached, Takoda moved to the front of the Circle and acknowledged her with a bow of his head. She touched the side of his face and he raised himself onto his hind legs, leaning his head to hers. Takoda looked at her, then out into the stadium and said, “We begin!” He returned to his place. Gaho moved onto the platform and spoke to the throng.

I am Gaho Gorilla. When the forests were plentiful, before the land was ill-distributed, there was room for us all. The fruits of the trees nourished us, the leaves a delicacy to be had all year round. We made soft beds for our newborns and cared as a community for our children and grandchildren. Our life was our own, and though death was well known to us, our existence remained in balance with the winters and summers of our world, the autumns and the springs. Now, so many of us are murdered, our children stolen and abused. The forests that were home to us are leveled and replaced with a single plant that cannot sustain us. Sometimes, for the better, we live in captivity. But even in benevolent captivity, we cannot be who we truly are, and we cannot teach our children and help them to be who they truly are. Inside walls, we become bored, then despondent. We forget how to be self-sufficient and woefulness erodes our spirit. We become ill. Those humans who wish to help us are far too few and cannot alone reverse the onslaught of the annihilation we face. Despite their efforts, the road laying before us is a sure genocide. We, ourselves, must act!

When she finished speaking, there was a low hum of agreement in the crowd. She turned and walked to Takoda and Gomda and sat with them at the rear of the circle, as they had agreed.

Two females of the domestic pig delegation were approaching, visibly shaking in the presence of so many natural enemies. Gaho went to them and opened her long arms in welcome. “Here you are safe, you may be sure.” They smiled in gratitude and walked behind her onto the dais. They looked out uncertainly and began to speak in canon.

We are Posala and Sitala. We live and die among humans – we were bred for this purpose and we have accepted that over a thousand generations. But the tides have shifted and we are no longer treated with respect and compassion. In former times, the farmsteads had space for running and rolling, as we love to do. Soft barn floors, where we gave birth to and nursed our children, were prepared for us. They remained with us until our milk and protection were no longer necessary. Yes, we knew their and our fate, but there was still a quiet dignity. Now a change has happened, and we are in trauma. We are trapped in enclosures that allow no movement, not even a turn of the head. In these prisons, we have our babies, we can barely see them, let alone snuggle with them as a mother should. Some die, some are grabbed from us, cut and thrown……..somewhere. We hear their screams and weep in helplessness. We have had more babies than we can count and known so few of them. Our bodies are massive beyond our nature and we are weak from lack of sunshine and lack of fresh air to breathe. We are left dirty and sick with sores. Life is only pain. Those humans who wish to help us are far too few and cannot alone reverse the onslaught of diseases of mind and body that now plague us. Despite their efforts, the road laying before us is perpetual suffering. We, ourselves, must act.

As they left the platform, their shivering had ceased. The pity that Gomda had felt earlier now turned into deep respect. Their utter defenselessness was outweighed by an uncharacteristic, yet overwhelming bravery and determination born of desperation. And they had risen to the moment.

The next to come were Wakizo of the Wolf Clan and Donoma, the representative of the domestic dog coalition. “They are quite beautiful together,” said Takoda, “these cousins. The dogs chose well, for the Siberian husky is very close in appearance to the wolf clan. Here they make a formidable appearance, and here they will once again feel their kinship.” “As do we,” said Gaho, looking at Gomda. Instinctively he climbed to a branch, jumped to another and another and back again to her side to show his deep appreciation for her acknowledgement.

The canines stepped onto the dais.

We are Wakizo/and Donoma. We are cousins/of a very different mind……………….Humans are our enemies/humans are our friends…………..They starve us, closing us off from our food supply/they feed us well, often from their own table…………….We are being slaughtered daily, our numbers decrease/we are loved, but changes are occurring………………We are hunters and travelers, in need of a wide berth of territory, made smaller and smaller by their greed for the land/we are domesticated and a friend of sorts, but the in-breeding makes us sick and debilitated, handicaps us. The habitats that suit our different breeds are disregarded as we live in unfit climates……………… We are recognized as spirit animals in their books but are called trespassers and pests in reality. Our natural food supply dwindles and when we search for food where we can find it, we are shot on the land that was once ours/We are in their homes and we love them, we adore their children, but leashes are tightening, rules more severe, cages become more and more the norm and our mouths are tied. What freedom we had dwindles rapidly, we are turned out, our newborns too often thrown away in bags, like waste…………The terms of coexistence are unreliable and fluctuating. We will not acquiesce when there is no stability/Those humans who wish to help us are too few…………And they cannot alone reverse the onslaught of this degradation/Despite them, the long road laying before us is confinement………….And extermination/We, ourselves, must act.

Leaving the dais, they walked down the ramp in solemnity. As they headed to their places, all the canines present, dogs and wolves, moved together into a single pack.

Their deep hum preceded them. The Baishan Bees flew down from some hidden place in the large yew tree and hovered above the dais. The hum rose and fell as the bees moved around the platform, air born. And slowly, out of the droning hum, words began to form in the single voice of the collective clan.

We are the Baishan. We are the siblings of the green plants of earth and the flowers and blossoms that that are our sustenance. As we drink the ambrosia, we gather and spread the seed for new life to grow. We are dying. We are being poisoned and our numbers dwindle. The poison is in the trees, the flowers and the fields. It kills us. We are being poisoned and our colonies can thrive only in great numbers. When we fly to our hive, the contamination is carried into our nest. It kills many, the workers, the caretakers, many. It kills our mother queen. All trees are one tree, not the many we need. Too little nourishment. We are starving. We behave erratically. We abandon our nest and our mother. A new enemy attacks us. A small enemy invades our home. It attaches itself to us and depletes our bodies. We are damaged and become weak. Our premature death reduces our community. The feel of the hot wind changes our sister flowers and our bodies resist and die. Many help us, but too few. Too little. Too late. Involuntary extinction. We do not accept it. We must act!

In one sweeping motion, they flew back up and disappeared again in the upper branches of the grand yew.

A deafening roar filled the stadium, and Takoda, despite his innate ability to at least appear calm, lowered his gaze sharply. Lallo of the Lion clan bounded forward, and from some distance leaped high, his body stretched and strong, and landed in the middle of the platform. He turned slowly and began pacing back and forth along the front of the dais, looking like his many brothers who had been confined in circus wagons. Lomahongva of the Leopard clan followed more slowly and jumped gently onto the platform, situating himself in a front corner, his tail swishing side to side, somewhat frantically. Gaho realized, these majestic, self-assured felines had fallen into a deep despondency, very close to depression. Though they were difficult to read, she had seen it before in her own, and could recognize it. There was not a creature present who did not have reason to be frightened of them, yet what filled them all now was pity, the same pity each one felt for the other. These great cats had lost their potency and the fall had been hard. Lallo began to speak but did not look out. It was not clear if he was speaking to the multitude…….or to himself.

We were kings, were we not? We were free, were we not? The illusion has faded, and the danger that has been upon us for some hundreds of years takes tangible form. Captured and caged! Caged and ridiculed! Ridiculed, whipped and burned! Contained, confined and controlled………We are of the wild – it is our birthright! No other way of life is satisfactory……..Now we are disgraced in our powerlessness. Fear of extinction is upon us. The trembling that was in our prey as we hunted is now in us……….But we were not barbarous! When our stomachs were full, the antelope lived beside us in peace. We laid leisurely in the warm sun for days, watching our young ones play and learn. Trophy killings, violation and enslavement are the postures of barbarians. These were not our crimes…………We are solitary creatures, loyal only to our own family clan. But now, our detachment must be relinquished – we join with you. You have our word.

Lallo and Lomahongva walked down the ramp slowly, upright on their four legs, back to their place. Their conscious attempt to show they posed no threat to the others was successful and greatly appreciated.

A sound akin to the call of the apes, but higher and sharper, came from the direction of the tanks. A member of the Doba Dolphin Community was calling on the attention of the assembly, given that the sea creatures could not use the dais. Takoda, Gaho and Gomda walked to the front of the dais to get a full view of these great sea mammals. All three smiled. The Dobas woke a special feeling in any living creature that crossed their path. They were playful and fun-loving, but one must not be fooled. They had a keen sense of the world around them and had saved many lives in the oceans. In their voices was a great healing power and their communal lives were as complex as any on earth. The Wapun Whale sang soulfully, filling the stadium with heart-wrenching tones. The Doba and Wapun alternated as speakers, as each one surfaced for air.

We are the Doba and the Wapun. The seas grow warm and unpredictable. Much that was alive chokes and dies, the currents change course and the natural flow of fish life and plant life is interrupted. The flora and fauna at the merging point of land and ocean suffer greatly, their nourishment inadequate, drowned, their survival, and ours, threatened. Our waters are defiled and our brother fish and sister sea dwellers become ill, mal-formed or die. The taste of the water is bitter, seen and unseen elements of extermination invading our world. We, too, have been captured and caged, but now many humans recognize our need for freedom and the community of our family. For that we are glad and grateful. But our world is full of the waste of mankind’s habits, and before the question of consequence was even asked, many whims of advancement were implemented, the problem-solving left to the future we all now face. And now a new substance fills our stomachs that we cannot eliminate. We are full, and yet we starve. This new useless creation is now in us, in our brother fish, and in our cousins that fly, and it grows in magnitude with each turn of the four seasons. We can barely avoid consuming it, because it is everywhere. By the millions, our numbers decrease each year. If we do not act, we are already dead!

The heavy lapping of the water ceased as the Wapun and Doba went back to swimming quietly in their tanks and the stadium was silent for a long and somber moment.

The Shikoba Starlings rose up on the wind, a sound rising with them like the winter waves on the western shore, or a waterfall crashing into the pool it creates and replenishes. Thousandfold, they danced in the sky over the stadium in magical assembly and harmony as one, swirling and tumbling, shaping and reshaping patterns in the sky; billowing and contracting, creating forms that solidified for a moment, then metamorphized into another in the next. Everyone watched, spellbound. They spoke no words and gave no testimonial. Instead, the Shikoba sculpted celestial portraits of all those present at the gathering- the lion, the eagle, the prairie dog, the hedgehog, the buffalo, the antelope, the frog, the lizard, the ape, the elephant, the salmon, the whale, the turtle…….and all the others. As each one saw his or her own likeness fill the sky, they were both honored and humbled, feeling their own importance, but knowing it was in equal balance to the importance of all the others. The enormous wind died down as the Shikoba settled back into the trees.

“Magnificent,” said Takoda. “We are all uplifted,” said Gaho. “It is a gift we will cherish as we follow the road we set for ourselves today.” “We are body and we are beyond body,” whispered Takoda. “The Shikoba has reminded us and it will be prudent for us to remember it.” He had no wish to break the spell, but he breathed deeply and said, “We must continue.”

Three members of the Cheyevo Clan walked across the field, upright, aware that all eyes were watching them with a great anticipation shrouded in fear. They were the link between humankind and all other living creatures, and their voice carried a great weight. The Cheyevo guardian held the hand of the female at his side, his wife and companion, until they reached the center of the dais. She put her head to his as they slowly let go, and all three turned to each other in a close silence. Takoda, who knew this to be a posture of mourning, walked onto the dais and spoke to them quietly. “Cheyevo, if there is hope of any other way, it lies in your knowledge. What would you tell us?” Takoda felt the guardian’s eyes heavy on him. Gomda and Gaho walked up the ramp. She leaned wearily on the young gibbon, as the strength now seemed to leave her body. They both climbed onto one of the surrounding yew trees. The Cheyevo guardian greeted the matriarch with great respect and concern, acknowledged his cousin gibbon, then looked out to the multitude, the other two of his clan flanking him from a little behind.

We are what is left of the Cheyevo clan. 50 years ago, we still believed. Today we do not. We are the closest cousins to the humans - of the same line and the same blood, though they would deny us. But we know them. They are obsessed with their illusion of superiority and a fabricated sense of stewardship over us. We do not need them, and the destruction that has ensued has proven them to be of inferior understanding. We are all necessary to one another for our existence – that awareness lives in our deepest instinct. But to our misfortune, not in theirs! Our lives have only three purposes in their eyes – we must play the jester to entertain them, we must be slaughtered to feed them, and we must succumb to their experiments. The tragedy of my unbalanced kinspeople is that they judge our ways and call us primitive and barbaric, while surpassing us all in depravity. They are as cruel to one another as they are to us, and their wars have become cataclysmic for all. They starve each other and they starve us. They deny entry to gardens of plenty to one another and they deny us. They cage each other, and they cage us. We have known those who see our plight and fight for us. And I have seen victories and been glad. But humanity is inconstant. The promise of the first means nothing to the next in line and that promise is undone. Though some express honest sympathy, they do not change their course as they must, even for themselves, their hedonistic addiction to unnatural comforts making them nearsighted. Humankind as a whole cannot be trusted to reach a true accord, because it is inordinately unstable within itself, even in its final hour. We have no choice……..but to act!

The Cheyevo acknowledged Gaho, Takoda and Gomda, and left as they had come – upright, hand in hand, with great dignity.

A Unanimous Accord

Tokado walked to the center of the Circle and stood on his hind legs. For many seconds he didn’t move, feeling himself in balance with his body and shell, strong despite his age. He looked out to the crowds of his fellow creatures, who, by nature, should never find themselves in such close quarters. But they were together, and they were, in this moment, all of the same mind. “Then we are in agreement.” In deliberate gestures, the small mammals and rodents raised their front paws, the birds opened one wing, then the other; the elephants raised their trunks and lowered them again, the wild dogs nodded, growled into a single yap, as did their domestic cousins. The cats purred low and the farm animals lowered themselves to reclining on the ground. Takoda settled to the ground and looked at Gaho and whispered, “’This but begins the woe that others must end….’”* Gaho climbed down from her seat on the trunk to him, “All are punish’d!”* She laid her arm across Takoda’s shell, who nodded at the waiting gibbon.

Gomda let out long, shrill whistles. The Eluwilussit joined, raising their trunks and trumpeting to the skies. The Wakizas and Donomas howled into the falling shadow of night and the Shikoba flapped their wings in the waning sunlight. The hyenas yapped and growled and bit at the wind and the Wapuns sang their mourning song, the Dopas accenting the anguished wails with whistles and clicks and throaty rhythms. The bees hummed low and dark, a foundation for the cries of the Cheveyos, Posalas and Sitalas in dancing polyrhythms. The Bidzill brotherhood swayed side to side, grunting low with each sway. The Lallos and Lomahongvas bounded across the field, sprang onto the high boulders, bared their teeth and emitted throaty growls that grew in volume to thunderous roars. Rowtags danced with the eagle and owl across the skies in passionate whirlwinds, territorial possessiveness forgotten. It was an orchestra extempore building to a climactic swell of heartbreak and despair, continuing into the deep night until, finally, at dawn, all was quiet, spent and exhausted, and reconciled. The hunger strike would begin.

As the sun rose, the silence remained unbroken and, throughout the morning hours, the delegations took their leave. They walked, crawled, hopped, slithered and pranced in a spontaneous procession the length of the stadium, showing the utmost deference to one another. The antelope had no more fear of the lion, and the rabbit, no fear of the eagle. Once in their home dwellings, they maintained their commitment and did not falter. The robin let the fly pass and did not dig for the worm. The rabbit did not eat the leaf. The pollinators did not transfer pollen and the dispersers did not spread the seeds. The animals of the world, whether domestic or wild, whether enclosed in zoos and reserves or in their natural habitat, neither procreated nor took on nourishment, not even when under threat of force, not even when that force was full of love and concern. They were dying, but now on their own terms. The slow, passive death of abuse was replaced with the honorable death of resistance. They lamented their lost life but rejoiced in the power of self-determination.

And finally, finally, humanity felt its impending ruination, but, as always, looked for answers outside of itself and blamed everything but itself. As time passed, it learned hunger, then starvation, for without animal life, plant life slowly died. Humankind discovered that it could never synthetically replicate the entirety of the world’s delicate balance and began too late to open its eyes to the necessity of brotherhood. So just as the animal world cried, howled, chirped and growled its sorrow, so humans wailed their sorrow……and their voices met. Humanity woke up, listened and heard them, for the first time in a long time. And, on the edge of extinction, understood.

*Quotes from Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare

Preparation

Takoda Tortoise emerged from the mouth of the cavernous entrance hall into the sun-drenched stadium, now decades out of use, overgrown and abandoned by the humans who built it. It was the largest on record, he had heard, impressive but proving to be impractical to maintain- the costs were more than the generated income. The stadium had been seldom full. Interesting, thought Takoda. Though humans were susceptible to herding, more than they liked to think, the contractors had apparently overreached. The numbers needed to fill it were too big to be constant. To him and the other organizers for today’s gathering, however, it was a perfect size for their purposes. He made his way across the length of the amphitheater, slowly of course, for that was the tempo nature had given him. But he was not complaining. This gave him time – time to observe, time to think and to assess. He, himself, was never prone to rashness or thoughtlessness, his own nature had seen to that (though rashness in a tortoise was seldom recognizable to anyone but another tortoise); and it had its advantages, which was why the committee had requested him, and he accepted the task at hand. His official title was “coordinator”……but he saw himself as more of a point of focus and, he hoped, a calming influence. He took a heavy breath and released it slowly. As he passed down the center line toward the other end, he observed the Eluwilussit Elephant clan, working now since months, busy finishing the last phase of preparation for the gathering scheduled for the day after tomorrow. They, as always, were doing an excellent job. The walls and bleachers on the right side of the stadium had been knocked out and replaced with two humungous glass tanks for the marine life delegations. He caught his breath - it was somewhat frightening to conceptualize that wall of water. Unlike his cousins, who spent the major portion of their lives swimming, he was not accustomed to the vastness of a sea or an ocean. He had seen large bodies of water before through his life, but this seemed so unnatural, which, of course, it was. The event in its entirety is unnatural. The Eluwilussit would be filling them, one with salt and the other with fresh water. This fear he felt would have to be set aside for the sake of the beautiful creatures that would fill them. Takoda gazed to the left. All along the bleachers, till the structure curved around to the front and back, they had lain fresh forest leaves, branches, dirt and brush for the comfort of the delegations of small forest creatures. Trees had been erected for the bird delegations, under them the earth tamped down, leaves and brush added for the hooved animals. There were wooden stalls for the domestic animals, who were not used to the nature of the wild ones in such close proximity, so they would feel safe; and an area of large boulders piled on top of one another for the creatures of the mountains, with openings for the reptilians who preferred cold, dark recesses and for the protection and refuge of insect life. The elephant clan had, as always, worked diligently and sensitively. Takoda nodded to each one as he passed them by, and they waved their trunks in a returned greeting.

He eventually arrived at his destination – the Circle of Conciliation. A magnificent yew formed the backdrop, some forty feet high with an immense trunk. Heavy, wide branches curved down the ancient form, each adding a new connection to the earth. Other branches lifted upward and outward, thick with foliage, making a dome of shade all around it. Takoda felt reverent in its presence. In its roots resided the wisdom of the ancestors, of which they were in desperate need. And though death played a role, the foundation of its perpetual story was eternal life, and the promise of resurrection and rebirth. He moved closer. An opening in the lower trunk offered entrance to the sepulchral vault of the tree, large enough for two elephants. He wondered how the Eluwilussit could transport such a structure unharmed. He did not ask but let his wonder and awe stand. Gomda was already there, preparing their food. The mixture of tropical leaves and fruit, and water in a hole in the ground lined with palm leaves were a welcome sight. He was tired from his travels. The young gibbon would be his adjutor, and he was glad. They had met on the island in the great eastern waters and he had immediately liked Gomda’s mischievous nature and friendly demeanor. Takoda had found his white beard and eyebrows stunning against his black fur, and his movement through the trees beautiful, graceful and sure. His elegant morning song daily woke the sleeping forests. “Is everything ready?” Takoda asked. “What do you think, great oldster?” was the gibbon’s sassy answer. Takoda chuckled. If he made it another twenty-five years, he would be 200, he mused. They sat together in the opening of the tree, ate a little and chatted until the old tortoise sighed and said, “Let’s prepare the trees.” The main Circle of Conciliation was patterned after the ancient megaliths, built beyond memory, when humans still connected earth and sky, still revered the hallowed circle and still felt universal kinship. But instead of stone, the elephants had replanted seven straight young yew trees to create the sacred circle, in honor of renewed life, the transformation after death and ancient wisdom - each about 7 feet high with leaves in umbrella formations, one at the top like a cap and 4 or 5 on thick branches jutting out from the trunks. A dais with one ramp from the back facing the old yew and one from the front toward the stadium, was placed in the middle. On this platform, each and every creature could speak his or her piece without interruption, where no living creature could be beset upon by another. They set to work until each trunk was a smooth light brown, one using the strength of his jaw, the other his agility of hands and feet. Gomda climbed on the last one and hung by an arm from one of the heavier branches. “I would fly through these treetops on my mother’s belly. As young gibbons we played games of speed and long jump from branch to branch.” He paused and gazed somewhere far away. “Our community thrived in these trees, where we nested and watched over each other.” Takoda looked at Gomda with sadness and compassion. “I know. I am sorry. They were once glad homes and safe shelter.” They sat down in their place at the outer edge between the old yew and the Circle, taking refreshment. A dowager of the Eluwilussit made her way to them. “The filling of the tanks needs time, but all will be ready by tomorrow,” she informed them. “Thank you, my lady,” Takoda replied and bowed his head to her. She and Takoda looked at each other. “We have seen so much, you and I, many changes and much loss,” she asserted. “But this I did not expect.” “Nor I,” was his quiet response. She turned to go, then turned her majestic head to him. “There is no other way?!” Whether a question or statement was unclear, even to herself perhaps. “I am afraid,” said Takodo in his slow, methodical manner, “there is not.” She turned back to continue her work. Takoda and Gomda ate in silence.


The Gathering

The gorillas arrived on the morning of the next day. Gaho, who was the oldest female and their spokesperson, would need the day in-between to rest. Takoda was glad to see them. Despite their intimidating appearance, he knew they were playful, quiet and peace loving. Gaho, like himself, had known freedom and captivity – her perspective would be very welcome. The gorilla delegation chose a well-shaded place just off the tree area and created a soft nest of the provided leaves and brush for her comfort.

Throughout the day, the smaller mammals and rodents arrived, all eager to find a safe place on the bleachers before the large cats and birds showed up. Despite the agreement, they were distrustful. The deep-seated survival instincts of predator and prey filled them all. Gomda watched as they ruffled and rustled about, thinking how glad he was he could navigate the trees, until the sobering thought came to him – it had not saved his family, either.

Toward dusk, the bird delegations came, working very hard to avoid each other’s flight path, whether solitary representatives like the eagle and the owl, or the flocks as collective representatives, as the starlings. The need to be civil was evident to them all, a consensus of spirit and will. Only through solidarity can their goal be reached. They spread themselves through the trees, the larger birds high above, making the rodents somewhat uneasy, and the smaller ones finding refuge in the deep recesses of branches and leaves. They did their best to allow each other the space and comfort they needed.

Takoda and Gomda greeted all the groups as they came, feeling glad that, so far so good, everyone maintained the proper order. No one was frightened of the two of them, they were the most trusted among creatures……and because neither were true meat eaters. So, when they bid them all to settle down for the night since no others were expected before the morning, the delegations did so in relative confidence. Relative, but not without sentries. They could not, and had no mind, to free themselves from this custom. Security was security. And it was programmed into their DNA to keep their guard up.

Early the following morning, they were all awakened by the slow onslaught of rumbling in the ground. The starlings chattered and chirped incoherently, while the eagle and owl flew off to investigate. The small ground creatures scurried this way and that, then suddenly suspended in mid-motion, repeating this pattern over and over. They were overcome with panic. There was no place to hide. Gomda jumped instinctively on Takoda’s shell and onto a yew tree, the highest point in the near vicinity. Takoda looked at the returning eagle, who cawed gently. After a moment, he said, “The buffalo are here, together with the gazelle and deer, who traveled with them for protection. They do not stampede. To assure punctuality they traveled here at a great speed, which they now reduce to a slow march.” The ground gradually stopped shaking. Gomda climbed down carefully and all looked to the opening, anxious and still, like a moment frozen in time. A broad shadow emerged and the buffalo appeared, the Bidzill in the lead, entering one by one, mingled with the gazelle and deer. They trod as lightly as they could to the plains area, and the entire stadium breathed out in gratitude.
“Have a care!” screeched the owl. “The cats are just behind them!” The momentary reprieve ended, and panic ensued once again. Gomda spoke under his breath to Takoda. “They are afraid the Lallo and Lomahongva will not keep their word……and so am I!” Takoda watched the lion and leopard as they approached. “They are very quiet, aren’t they?” he said uneasily. He was not afraid of them. There was so much more to be frightened of. But their presence did require…..caution. As the felines passed, walking purposely toward the Circle of Conciliation, the hooved creatures backed away as far as they could, knowing that if an attack came, there was nothing to be done. Takoda waited unmoving as they silently approached. Just about two feet from the front opening into the Circle, they veered off to Takoda’s left, and settled themselves near the tanks of water. An obvious display, thought Takoda, and effective.

The last to come were the sea creatures and the domestics. This was the last task of the Eluwilussit. They accompanied the farm and pet animals into their stalls- some of whom were so terrified, they were visibly shaking. It was a testament to their courage that they appeared at all. The gates were closed, and the guardian elephants went to assist their clansmen in bringing the wagons in with the whales and dolphins and, surprisingly, a few fish, who didn’t feel it was proper to be left out. They were right, of course. The air breathers would be the spokespeople for the purpose of communication, but they had the right of attendance, of a voice and a vote.
It was now midday. They would eat and rest, and begin the meeting in the late afternoon, a time compromise between the night creatures and those that lived their lives in the daylight. They had all agreed, they would settle this by the last lingering light of dusk.

Today. This day. The present day. Today. Oggi ... Aujourd'hui … Hoy. Just another day. 24 hours. 1440 minutes. 86400 seconds. A whole cycle of the sun rising, moving across the horizon and setting on the other side. Another number to cross off the calendar. Today. Is one of the days … I feel a fly was more productive than I was. Seriously, not kidding! That fly actually managed to hatch, live through childhood, undergo puberty, reproduce, age and die and in the same time that I managed to decide what I want to eat for dinner. Okay, I'm exaggerating a bit … it wasn't quite that bad … was it? I mentally retrieve my steps … I woke up, had breakfast, got dressed, was ready to roll … lost my focus for two seconds … and the next thing I know … the neighbors in the house across the street have switched their lights back on, the clock has effortlessly skipped 6 hours ahead and I have accomplished absolutely nothing!
Okay … no need to panic … I still have a few hours left before I need to go back to bed in order to get those 8 hours of sleep, which I just saw in a Facebook Feed Video, by a professor of neuroscience and psychology, is very important because the mind starts shutting down after 16 hours and fails to make new memories so you end up feeling like you're amnesic, as your body has no chance to rid itself of that toxic protein beta amyloid that is associated with Alzheimer's and your immune system starts ceasing operation reducing anti-cancer fighting immune cells and cardiovascular stress relief … and I really don't wanna die of a heart-stroke-dementia-cancer-attack when I'm 33! But I also really don't want to tell my colleagues at work tomorrow that the most exciting thing that happened to me today was the 2 for 1 chicken sale I got for lunch!

News! I could watch the news! Keep myself informed … stay up to date with events happening around the world … but hearing about all the shitty things that go on everywhere just makes me feel really mad and sad and small and insignificant and powerless and I don't have the time to pick myself up and fight the system right now!

Read a book! Not really an option … I will for sure get caught up in the story and then spend the rest of the day reading … losing even more time.
We might need something around the house? I could go shopping! Easy, just put on shoes and a coat and decide where to go to get what .. and then they might not have it in stock … so I have to go to another store and before you know it, I will have tracked down 5 stores and accumulated a shitload of junk, still missing the one thing I initially left the house for. Might as well order online and save myself the trouble! But I am trying to boycott online-corporate-monopolies … that's right, fighting the system!
Oh .. well look at that … I just spent the last hour trying to decide how to best spend the little remaining time I have left.
Be creative! That's it! Do some work! Yes! I sit down at my computer and start writing:

A Crow's Diary,

Day one

Dear Diary,
Flew in a circle three times today. Then sat down on a branch counting gusts of wind. The crow from the neighboring nest came to join me after the 43rd gust and sat down on the branch beneath me. She crowed. Three times. Then I crowed back. Four times. Then we were silent. For 26 wind-gusts.

Day Two

Dear Diary,
Flew down onto the Concrete today and nibbled on an old piece of bread. With cheese. Wasn't good. Ate up all the crumbs anyway. Jumped down a few stairs after that. One by one. Flew off as a human approached.

Day Three

Dear Diary,
Had a very lively conversation with a seagull today. Talked to a squirrel after that ... and then a skunk later on.

Okay … these lines are either mind-blowingly brilliant - or the biggest rubbish I have ever written! I delete the last 45 minutes of work.

Why don't I just listen to some music, take a bath, relax and recharge my battery so I am fresh and awake and can be more productive tomorrow … shit … I already did that yesterday!

I'm starting to panic! It's 7 o'clock and I have yet to find an activity that will save my day and not leave me feeling like a useless chunk of human existence … a dreamer … who dreams her life away … wasn't that an Ozzy Osbourne song? No – stop – stay focused!

I start making dinner, end up scrubbing the sink in the bathroom instead, decide to sort out the laundry, get bored, so I look up new job opportunities online … and find myself an hour later standing in a messy pile of dirty underwear, toothbrushes, marinated beef and uncooked pieces of broccoli that will take me an hour to organize!
I grab „Successful Time Management for Dummies“ from the shelf … replace it with my „How to Stay Present“ handbook … forget what I was reading when my phone rings … check my WhatsApp messages … scroll through people's new profile pictures (because I swore to myself not to waste my time mindlessly scrawling through Instagram posts anymore) and discover that I have lost another hour … still standing in front of a pile of 4 unfinished chores and not one bit happier about my life. I consider crying but reconsider, as this outburst of emotions would probably last about half an hour … HALF AN HOUR OF MY LIFE THAT I DO NOT HAVE! … and choose to go for a walk in the dark instead.You can't go wrong with fresh air and exercise is never a waste of time. The world always seems better after a nice walk. It's like the air not only cleanses your lungs but also cleans the space in your head. Gives your brain room to breathe … to contemplate about life, love, the future … isn't that funny though? How everything is always about the future? We learn to mind our manners at home, so we don't make fools of ourselves in kindergarten, we go to kindergarten to get used to being around other kids in school, school prepares us for college, college prepares us for work, we work our asses off to get a good pension plan and spend the last years of our lives recovering from the strains of years and years of preparation for this moment. But you know what they say: You can make plans, but everything will turn out differently in the end anyway. The only thing you know will happen for certain is that you will inevitably die … so really from the day we are born … we just prepare to die. I try not to lose myself in a pseudo-philosophical existential crisis and direct my attention to a duck that just crossed my path. Lucky girl! No worries in the world. No goal to reach, no need to prove herself. And the worst part is … she doesn't even know how lucky she is!

I sit down on a bench about to surrender to the defeat that today is just another one of those days as it starts to rain. Guess that's what you call shit out of luck! I get back up and walk home. I pull my coat tighter around my body and quicken my pace as the drops start getting heavier and heavier.

I catch up with a man in a wheelchair fighting his way up the hill. I stop to offer him my assistance and push him the rest of the way … alright, at least I've done my good deed for the day … say goodbye and run back home.
As I enter my apartment ... the still unfinished tasks, the empty screen on my laptop and sniggering hands on the clock staring me in the face ... I take a moment to be … just be … and remind myself that not everything has to be spectacular … that this confusion is a necessary evil … that these days are a learning process … and that time is only wasted when I tell myself that it is.

I let the beef, the toothbrushes and the pile of clothes be – wasn't that a Beatles' song? - give the clock a sovereign wink …. try to make the best of this day – and write … this.

People are curvatures. That’s the beauty of the human animal.  It is what separates us, not from what lies “below” us on the evolutionary scale, but from the future creatures we ourselves are today creating, who, according to certain knowledgeable oracles, may one day surpass us, replace us and even enslave us.  As of now, the rudimentary mind of the pre-robotic electro-brains of today coerces us to follow straight lines to our perceived destination - therein lies speed, focus and clear choices.  And this is good, so we are told.  And we buy into it. Nonetheless, this is not who humans are.  We are nuanced and many-layered.  We meander through landscapes sometimes not going anywhere in particular.  We reflect, make decisions, and change our minds along our way.  We gather stuff and nonsense as we go, each according to his or her own desires.  We fantasize and speculate.  We stop to smell the flowers and look at our reflection in still waters. Speed and exactness are useless to us without these “ineffectual diversions”.  

But, admittedly, our curvature character is also our bane, sometimes leading us far astray and, in the process, making us forget what we should remember, impelling us to interpret our surroundings with half-recollections and snapshot knowledge, confusing us into believing our short-sighted assumptions are universal truths.  But…..is that a reason to follow the straight line?  I say, no!

As we navigate these digital systems in their (and our) baby stages, we are excited by their vastness and in awe of how close the world suddenly seems to be. It’s a space mountain* of twinkling info-lights that appear out of what was once a vast darkness.  On this thrilling ride, besieged with the constant buzz of information and input, the temptation to allow ourselves to be passively hurtled along and lulled into inaction, is strong….and imperceptible.  But once we have sensed the danger, we wrestle with it for control.  Whether we succeed, whether we can succeed, whether we need to succeed, is now up for discussion.  If we look at it as a generational divide (if we may be allowed a moment of gross generalization) - those who are growing up with this very new and imposing technology, and those who knew the world without it - the debate is predictable.  The younger ones navigate the systems with more ease, incorporating each advancement as a natural order of things.  The older ones have to work at it in a readjustment process, often wondering why the next step is at all necessary. The younger ones encourage the older ones to see how advantageous each improvement is to the quality of life while the older ones implore the younger ones to remain vigilant as to what they are giving up.  How do we answer one another, and where are the lines to be drawn?

I am a quantum social media, digital junkie.  I didn’t see it coming.  Tomorrow, I have promised myself, I will drill it down to a bare minimum.  Actually, it started off well-enough with quite noble intentions. I accepted the new forms and recognized the many gains made from them.  I wanted to, one, inform myself, understand more about the current waves of thought and movement in the world. I live in a foreign culture and can read the newspaper, listen to the radio, turn on the tv, and understand the words.  But the process of comprehension and analysis was agonizingly slow, and daily life left no time. The digital world offered me the chance to see and listen to news media in my own native tongue and cultural context.  My second objective was to rediscover my home, the political and social mindset of the day, what had changed and what remained as I had always known it.  The third was the strongest motivation, easy access to my family. 

Somewhere along the line, the information never seemed to be enough.  I needed just one fact more, one more detail of the story, one more trusted opinion on the subject.  Suddenly, it wasn’t sufficient to know about my home town alone.  I had to read about the surrounding area, the other cities in proximity and then the next county, the next state and further and further away, like an endless ripple on a boundless ocean.  What photo had I missed?  What celebration?  What announcement?  What funny comment in reference to our family?  My curvatures were being whipped around left and right until they screeched and stiffened, and I was being led in a straight line to whatever the calculating server thought I wanted and needed to know.  And I let it happen.  I was imperceptibly metamorphosing, gathering and storing information purely for its own sake, doing nothing with it, becoming like the ravenous machine that held my free time hostage.  It had decided who I was and kept me on that narrow road, until that’s what I was becoming.  I was forgetting to stop and look at myself in still waters. I didn’t remember that I could change my mind and test a new direction.  I stopped searching for myself, the parts I knew that were hidden somewhere and the parts I didn’t yet know about.  I stopped gathering the stuff and nonsense that made me edgy, unpredictable and nuanced, that had no logic for anyone but me.  I stopped sitting at my piano and feeling my fingers find the keys to play the beautiful music of Ravel, Debussy and Gershwin.  I stopped writing with any regularity, telling the wild stories that played themselves out in my head.  I stopped feeling the potential of what could still be while I am still breathing.  

We need no justification to demand space for personal growth.  The “why we want it”, is irrelevant.  It is our birthright, the legacy we received at our inception, the gift of gifts from whatever Creator or concept we believe in.  If we continue to accept every upgrade that comes along, to thoughtlessly incorporate any advancement without asking the question, “what happens to me if I use it?”, we will freeze in a somnabulistic hibernation and the only ones with any viable creativity left will be those who design the advancing stages of electro-brain’s development, who will earn their fortunes, until they themselves become substandard to their own handiwork, then obsolete.  
The human animal has only begun to discover the undiscovered in our amazing bodies and our deepest selves, and there is presumably much, much more.  Electro-brain can help us, to be sure, if we don’t give it all our problems to solve, all our tasks to complete, all our decisions to be made; if we don’t give it all our thoughts to process, our riddles to unravel and our mysteries to solve.  If we allow our potential to be converted into its potential, our knowledge to be sucked into its brain and out of ours, reducing ourselves to half-recollections and snapshot knowledge , forgetting what we should remember, and believing only in our short-sighted assumptions, we will end up serving it, and it will be the one with the beauty of curvature, and we will have the limited life of the straight line. 

*Reference to Disneyworld’s rollercoaster

Dearly Beloved … we are gathered here today to bid farewell to our confidant, companion and comrade. A partner who stuck with us through all aspects of life. An ally who was there for us, not only during bad times, but also during the good! Pal, Mate, Friend … we gave him many names.
The time has come to say our goodbyes, so longs and adieus … no „see you soon“, for he shall not return! Weep, my friends, weep! For these tears are long overdue! Let us take a moment to acknowledge his passing. May he find peace in his new home and stay wherever the hell that might be! We all knew him. Some well, some very well, some just casually. But if these tears of joy tell me anything … it is that he will not be missed! Whether your parents introduced you to him, or a friend, a partner or whether you happened to find him yourself in the vast depths of this malfunctioning machine we call society, take comfort … for he is gone!

I remember our first encounter as if it were yesterday! I was seven years of age. I was, even if I do say so myself, a bright, but kind of shy, young girl. I loved to sing. I would happily chirp and chant wherever I went - at home, in school, with my friends, at the playground, before going to bed. No wonder my 2nd grade teacher grasped the opportunity to give me the big solo in our first „Puppets Elementary School Choir” concert. I was ecstatic! I practiced day in and day out. The big day came, and I was ready! Oh, was I ready! I had my purple dress, my pink shoes, my white lace socks, a ribbon in my hair and a microphone in hand. I climbed on stage, looked straight into the audience … and there he was! Sitting there quietly, inconspicuously, perfectly calm, staring me right in the face as if he had been waiting there all evening, just for me. My pulse raged! My hands trembled! My throat tied up! And what should have been the grand debut of a lifelong career resulted in the greatest disaster that crushed my poor little heart.

From that moment on, he was my shadow. No matter what, or where, or how, or who, or when, I could always count on him to be there! So clingy! Like those sticky plants that grow on the sidewalk that magically find their way on to your clothes and you can't get them off. He would just creep up on me out of nowhere!

Like this one time, I went out to buy a set of new clothes. I was fed up with everything I had hanging in my closet and decided to treat myself to something nice! My favorite department store had a sale and I found a beautiful turquoise dress in my size! I ran into the changing room and … no way! It fit! It was cheap, it was comfortable, it looked good! The perfect purchase!
„Are you sure about that?“ said the renowned voice behind my back! What the … ? I told him to wait outside … at least until I left the shop … how did he even get in here? „Yes!“ I answered trying to uphold my fake self-confidence. „I like it!“ He gave me that „Okay, if you say so ...“-look and let his gaze wander across the little cubicle … in that if-you-don't-want-my-opinion-fine manner! I tried to ignore him, but his presence was undeniable … whistling in my ear, bouncing back and forth on his feet. „Fine!“ I gave up. “What's wrong with it?“ Oh, that fat smile I hated so much! „Well,“ he said „For one, it is way too short! Do you really want people to see those bruised knees of yours? And you know your ankles look fat in those new shoes! What would that neckline do for you anyway? You call those molehills breasts? You'll be the laughing stock of the cleavage club! And that color looks horrible on you.“ „I like it“, I murmured. He cringed his nose. „No, no! You need something more subtle. Like black. Black is good!“

Dearly Beloved … what was a girl to do? Something, that was certain … but what? Every time I thought I had gotten rid of him, he came back like a boomerang … always returning, no matter how far I threw, piercing the air, aiming for the head, the heart, the gut.
Whenever I applied for a new job: „Don't do it! You're no good at this!“ Whenever I had troubles at my current job: „Like I said, you're no good at this!“ On my way to meet friends: „You do know, you are no fun, right?“ While getting ready to go on a date: „You better not kiss him! You'll embarrass yourself.“ New boyfriend: „He's just seeing you, because he pities you!“ After a break-up: „Told ya!“ Nagging, nagging, nagging! Didn't you? Didn't you, old friend? Snake in my garden of Eden! Siren hiding in the waves of my sea. Making me fall like I flew too close to the sun, making me freeze like a Pillar of Salt. No matter how much I braced myself, you would find my soft spot, shoot your arrow and take me down! Through purgatory, to the depths of the Underworld, where I was to wallow in Self-Pity for the rest of my life!

Self-Doubt … you have been a hell of a companion! I could never rely on any of my emotions … Sadness would come and go, Happiness dropped by once in a while, Fear sometimes came with you to visit me and Anger, well, I would say we are remote acquaintances. But you … you were always there for me! So it is with but a hint of nostalgia that I let you go! Don't get me wrong … I couldn't wait for you to leave! People have done some pretty shitty things - gone in wrong directions, hurt many lives trying to prove you wrong! But I have grown so accustomed to you that I can't imagine what will happen now that you aren't there to hold me back!
I can't help but wonder what could have been if I hadn't met you! I would probably be a successful singer by now … I would have killed it that summer wearing the dress! I would have had a better life! We all would have had a better life, if Self-Doubt hadn't come into our homes and poisoned our minds! You would have gotten that promotion, he would have kept that girlfriend, they would have better ties with their family and friends … but, Dearly Beloved the good news it … it is not too late!
It might not be that promotion, but you can climb another ladder! It might not be that girlfriend, but love will find him again! And real family bonds never break, and true friends always give, not one, but a dozen last chances.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Dearly Beloved … let's bury this bastard! Let's rid ourselves of this wolf in sheep's clothing, this fake monster who pretends to be our friend! Whom we have called Pal, Mate and Friend simply because he happened to be around; who we run to every time we feel satisfaction, because we cannot stand to be happy; who we seek advice from whenever we really want to, but don't dare make the decision ourselves; to whom we have given so much power because someone, at some point, said something that hurt us.

So what your hair isn't blond and perfectly straight? Chances are there are people out there who love bushy, brown curls … and if they don't … screw'em! So what you failed your last exam? People need to see that education is more than just a piece of paper stating you can learn A – Z by heart and there are many different ways of being intelligent … and if they don't … screw'em. So what you wear glasses, your teeth aren't straight, you have an accent, your skin is dark, your skin is light, your eyes are narrow, you like men, you like women, you're no Size 0, you're no muscleman, you have a penis but don't want it, you have breasts but wear your hair short … if people can't deal with you being different screw them! Not you! And screw you, Self-Doubt, for taking hold of so many wonderful people, crushing so much potential and creating so much inner chaos!

Dearly beloved … we have a choice. We had a choice yesterday, we have a choice today and we will have a choice tomorrow! He will try to arise from his grave. Do not ignore him! Do not suppress him! Simply let him pass by until he grows tired of your indifference and decides to leave. And we will walk without lowering our gaze, and we will talk without softening our voice, and we will dance like no one is watching, sing like our life depended on it and be the fullest version of „Me“ „Myself“ and „I“ there has ever been.

The air was thick. Thick, hot and full of a black dust. You could almost touch it. He tasted it on his tongue, spitting it out in wads onto the dirt floor.  He was a young man of 33, but he no longer felt young. He felt worn out and used up.  His skin was white, but the dust covering every inch of his face, arms and chest gave his skin an odd grey hue. The tunnels themselves were pitch black. Once you were down in the mine, the light of day was left behind, and the only light was the candle you brought with you.  Buy it yourself and don’t forget it.  He hated the dark, but he’d learned to accept it and live with it long ago.  The holes they worked in, held up by wooden beams that could give way if someone bumped them too hard, were where they spent most of their days and sometimes half the night if their quota wasn’t reached. If he didn’t control his imagination, it seemed the walls closed in on him as the hours wore on. He picked up his pickaxe and swung, gouging it into the wall. He hoped it would not collapse on him – another fear!  Ten months ago, he had heard the “Mother”* speak.  She had said they were cowards if they didn’t stand up for themselves.  She was right, though he hadn’t felt like a coward.  You couldn’t do this job if you didn’t get the better of your fear.  But something did scare him – starvation.  They couldn’t eat if they didn’t buy at the company store-they only had the useless mine currency.  And he didn’t know how to do anything else.  He was scared of one of them being sick with nowhere to go, watching his family die one by one.  But he had listened to “Mother”, and she was right about something else.  They were hardly any better off now – his wife had miscarried 2 babies working these mines.  His oldest boy, only 13, had already lost 3 fingers. And now, as of 6 months ago, his 9-year-old worked the tunnels.  ‘We need the small ones,’ the boss had said.  ‘The demand is getting higher,’ he had said, ‘and if we don’t fill it, somebody else will.’  In the past 18 months there had been 2 explosions and a bad cave-in.  30 men dead, 2 women and 8 children.  After the last explosion, they organized and went on strike.  That’s when the bosses brought in the militia and they were beat so badly they couldn’t work for days.  And then came the strike-breakers, the blacks from further down south.  He knew somewhere inside, they were not to blame.  They didn’t have anything, either, and had probably heard the same promises he had - a good, solid job.  But he had risked everything and saw himself losing it all.  When they came, the strike lost its leverage. So he turned his anger onto them.  They had stolen the jobs and the chance to make the mines safer, to stop them making the children work, and to earn a wage with dignity – that’s the word “Mother” had used.  And now, nothing had changed.  And his two young sons were slaving in the mine, just like him.  He looked over as the children were brought down from the surface and he watched now as his youngest was lowered down the long shaft in the corner, into the narrow tunnels below.  He knew the boy was scared and tired.  He came home bruised every day, and it was only a matter of time before he lost a finger, an arm, or a leg. He decided then, the union had to be revived.  It was dangerous, but it was dangerous not to.  The owners were greedy and cruel, depraved in their hunger for the wealth they stole from all of them who worked the mines.  His enemies were not the soot-covered men and women who scratched like he scratched to survive, but the fine-clothed men who took it all for themselves.  He would fight, this promise he made to himself.  That’s when he heard it, the explosion, muffled and expansive.  Children’s cries followed the reverbing blast that shook the ground beneath them.  He tried to distinguish is son’s voice…but couldn’t.  The shaft was gone, but the screams persisted.  They were not all dead!  His heart beat into the center of his brain as he and others broke out of their momentary shock and jumped forward, digging with their bare hands. The cries continued, there was still a chance! He dug in desperation, ignoring how his hands bruised……and he prayed.

Jay was far down the road now, though how he knew that, he did not know.  He took a deep breath, knowing this “phenomenon” was coming to an end, but it wasn’t over yet.  Every part of him felt wounded, as if those lightning bolts had indeed pierced his entire body.  He followed the path opening at his side……
​
She was dancing.  The soft suede clothing moved gently over her as she swayed her balance from one foot to the other in turns and prances, her arms gathering and giving in gentle gestures, her knee-high leather shoes pliable over the ground beneath her feet.  The smell of sage and cedar emanated from her wrinkled skin and her headdress of colored beads and the feathers that trailed down her braids attested to the serious nature of her ritual.  She was strong and supple in her movements, despite her old age. Though she was alone on the plateau, she had no fear.  Her spirit animals protected her, and her brother animals knew she meant no harm.  Her ceremonial song of ancient origin traversed over her entire vocal range, and she sang it until her consciousness reached the gate of her ancestors. They greeted her spirit, and, in the stone circle, she sat on her fur mat and listened.  Theirs was a language of currents and waves, and only in deep reverie could she understand them.  “A people of broken spirit will come. With them they bring great change and great destruction. They have forgotten the sacred bond with earth, and lost faith in kinship.  They will not see you, and in blindness they will try to obliterate you, our history and our knowledge.  What will happen we cannot say, save you will need your strength. The earth and her children will be very sick. Remember…..protect, but do not hate.  Defend……but do not revel in slaughter. Speak our ways, teach them, give them to all who will hear.  Connect with other ways that are of the same mind.  Stay the sacred path!”  The ancestors became quiet and retreated.  She gathered her things in the bundle, placed it on her back and looked to the horizon.  The vast forest spread out below her, beautiful and enduring, and she tried to imagine how this land could be anything other than what it was at that moment.   Though she knew it would not happen in her lifetime, she felt frightened for all her children. She thanked the ancestors for their wisdom and trust, asked forgiveness of the small creatures for her disturbance of their home, and set off down the mountain to her village. 

The road was almost quiet now, a few lights dancing like leftover fireworks, still unpredictable but non-threatening.  He was very tired, but no rest was granted.  He must endure as those in his visions had endured.  The open way was off to his left.  He could continue walking straight, the road was free enough……but he was not, not yet.  It was his choice now. He turned to the left.

He looked in the mirror of the medicine cabinet.  He was a man with stringy hair, bloodshot eyes and ugly stubble on his face.  He was not young, but not old either – just worn out and used up. He was…….his father.  The cold water he splashed on his face made him groan, and without bothering to dry, he walked across the hall to his bedroom and sat on the bed.  He hated this – the morning after.  His vision blurry, his brains swimming in his head, his body like dead weight, his stomach like curdled milk. And now it was all too often.  He stood up slowly, wanting to do…….something.  But what? For a year now he hadn’t had a job. He sat back down on the bed and let a foul-smelling belch escape his mouth.  A long while, he tried to focus on what he should do, as drops of water fell on his hands.  God, I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean any of it!  He had been angry about something and put his son, only eight years old, out of the house.  He had hit him, he didn’t know how many times, and thrown him out.  It had stormed badly, but he had been too drunk to notice.  In his stupor, he had forgotten him and left him out all night.  This morning, when he realized, he’d opened the door, and the boy, soaked and shivering, came in, put on his pajamas and laid in his bed.  He stood up again, now knowing what he needed to do.  He went to the kitchen and looked in the phone book.  Family services.  The boy’s Mom had been gone for 2 months.  She wasn’t coming back, that was sure.  He’s my son, but I can’t take care of him.  There’s nothing I can do for him.  He picked up the receiver and dialed the number.  The woman on the other end asked him some questions, and after a brief conversation, said someone would come that day.  He woke the boy up, told him to get dressed and pack his things.  He was leaving.  The boy kept asking questions.  Why? Where? What was wrong?  He was crying, kept saying he was sorry.  But he didn’t answer the boy’s questions or even look at him.  He closed the door to his son’s room, went into the kitchen, sat down and waited for somebody to come. 

Jay, back in his body, watched the man fall.  His arms hung at his sides, the gun loose in his hand.  The adrenalin and the giddiness were gone, replaced - now his whole being was weighted down with sadness.  He got it.  These people were his past, his history, a part of him and his make-up. They lived in his DNA – they were imprinted on his being and he was a consequence of them and their memory. For him, they had awakened and given him the gift of sight - of hindsight and, surely their intention, of foresight.  The empathy that had been blocked out of his consciousness and suppressed deep in him had returned in the space of a moment.  The memories his ancestors had shared forced him to see and feel himself.  Now he could feel beyond the anger and aggression, beyond the satisfaction of causing pain, to feel his own.   What would happen next, his superiors would take him in, maybe fire him if the backlash was big enough, maybe just put him on leave.  But in the end, nothing would happen.  It never did.  He would be free to live his life.  But his illusions of power and supremacy were gone.  He had been used, and he would not be used again.  He had been trained to focus on the worst part of himself, the parts that were broken.  He had been appropriated for someone else’s benefit.  But now, the disappointment, the fear and the isolation that had made him vulnerable to control, were in his own hands.  And he would find a new way.  That young man was dead – a sorrowful, irreversible truth – and he would see him falling whenever he closed his eyes at night.  He became conscious of the loud, angry voices yelling at him, so ready to take him down.  Another officer came and took his gun, patted him on the back and led him to the squad car.  As he lowered his head to climb in, he asked his ancestors for courage.  
  
*Mary Harris “Mother” Jones